


What Even is Calculus?

by dyingpoet



Series: Sprace one shots [26]
Category: Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Tutoring, shameless fluff i was desperate ok??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 00:58:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17234429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dyingpoet/pseuds/dyingpoet
Summary: Race is really good at math, others are not





	What Even is Calculus?

**Author's Note:**

> jhdfvb idk what possessed me to make this and it might suck?? i literally have no concept of it

“I am largely disappointed with the results of our last test,” Professor Caulfield droned, voice spreading like a spilled drink across the auditorium sized classroom. “Less than ten percent of the class received a C or higher, meaning that the remaining ninety or so percent of you are performing  _ below average _ .”

Race snorted, scrolling through his phone to check his grade, this class was a joke. It was intro and half the kids here were just suffering through it to get their Gen Ed credit.

“Are you joking?”

Turning his head, Race looked at Jack, who’d gone slack jawed from where he was craning to look over Race’s shoulder. He grinned and handed his phone to Jack.

“Check and see if you’re such a skeptic.”

Jack squinted at his phone screen and let out a high pitched sound of disbelief, passing the phone to Davey, who was sitting next to him. “You little shit, that is  _ not  _ fair.”

Race burst into a fit of laughter because Jack really did look like someone had like, took a swing at him or something. It was fucking hilarious and he didn’t care if pretty much everyone around him was looking at him like he had a price on his head. “Get better at math, Jackie.”

Jack really did take a swing a swing at him that time, Davey lunging to hold him back as Race burst out laughing again, and the rest of the class filed out of the room around them. 

“He earned his grade, Jack,” Davey placated, pulling his rather aggressive boyfriend off of his rather amused roommate. “He studies-”

“So do I!” Jack whined, sending Race a half-hearted glare before stuffing his calculus book in his bag with what was probably more force than necessary. “But you don’t see me getting a ninety seven! And he doesn’t  _ really  _ study.”

“Hey!” Race protested as he gathered his own things. “It’s not fault I have a natural, god-given, heaven sent gift in the area of mathematics.”

“It is, it is your fault.”

Davey rolled his eyes at the two of them, opening his mouth to shoot something back when a blur of black hoodie knocked into him from behind, sending him sprawling into Jack. 

Race and Jack, guard dogs they were, were about to snap at the kid when he beat them to it. 

“Sorry man, didn’t see you there,” he said, looking awkwardly between the three of them as he messed with the strap on his bag. 

Jack rolled his eyes, Race stared unabashed; he had an affinity for cute boys and completely forgot that either of his friends were there for a second or two. 

“It’s okay,” Davey said finally, breaking the strange silence that had settled between them.

The kid nodded, frowning strangely the still staring Race before walking off quickly. 

“Davey,” Jack deadpanned, crossing his arms and looking indignantly at his boyfriend, “it was  _ not  _ okay.”

Davey snorted and swung his bag onto his bag, already starting to leave. “God, it was an accident, don’t be so dramatic.”

“I’m not dramatic.”

“Back me up here, Race,” Davey said, bumping shoulders with Race, who was idly staring at the door the apparent assault perpetrator had exited through. “Race?”

Snapping out of his daze, Race blinked up at the pair. “Oh, yeah Jack, I would assume you were a theater major if I met you on the street.”

Jack gasped and Davey laughed and Race got his smirk back, leading the three of them out of the classroom.

“You know I was joking, but that  _ hurts _ , Race.”

* * *

 

“Slightly better, but,” Professor Caulfield, once again with the most mind numbingly boring voice Race had ever heard, began, “I am still largely disturbed by the number of you who seemingly fail to grasp the concept of a derivative.”

This time around Race was way too tired to make a comment about the ridiculousness of that statement, and was much more focused on keeping his eyes open to check his grade. The tell tale feeling of Jack breathing down his neck was really pushing him today.

“Oh my god can you back up,” Race gritted out, not even turning his head to look at his friend, the art major, who spent about as much time complaining about this class as he did studying for it. 

Jack snorted but backed off. “Crabby today, aren’t we?”

Race grumbled, raising his eyebrows at his grade, more surprised than he probably should have been, before passing the phone back to Jack. “I wouldn’t be if I wasn’t up until three listening to  _ someone  _ conjugating in French.”

He glanced back to see Davey smiling sheepishly at him. “I’m sorry, they had to close the cafe I usually study at.”

Jack gasped, again, much louder than strictly required, and Race rubbed at his eyes, ignoring him in favor of his roommate. 

“It’s okay, I keep you up with my bullshit more often than not.”

It was actually a really pleasant conversation they were having when Jack nearly threw Race’s phone in his face. “This is unfair.”

“Jack we can’t keep having this discussion,” Race mock reprimanded him. He was promptly ignored.

There was a long, drawn out groan and Race could physically feel the annoyance of his departing classmates; he didn’t care. 

“A ninety six? I didn’t see you study once!” 

Race turned, yawning, and kept his face what one might call annoyingly innocent. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jack. I devoted three years to this test, I cut my palms and went to the crossroads and sold my  _ soul  _ for this test, such is my level of commitment.”

“And I’m the theater major-”

Jack didn’t cut off, Race just stopped hearing him because black hoodie boy was back, this time in a gray hoodie and Race was definitely detecting a stylistic theme there. And, better, or worse depending on who you asked, hoodie boy was definitely walking right up to Race, and he didn’t knock anyone over, either. 

“Hey, Race, right?” Mysterious Hoodie Boy asked, messing with the straps on his bag like he had been last time, it was cute Race wasn’t going to lie.

“Yeah!” Race said, lowering his voice when the guy widened his eyes at the volume, “I mean, yeah, I’m Race, what’s your name?”

“Spot.”

Race nodded, frowning as he saw Spot’s eyes flick behind him. Turning, he saw Davey attempting to drag a rather enthusiastic Jack away from the two of them, muttering something along the lines of, “Leave them  _ alone _ .”

“Excuse him, he’s an idiot,” Race offered, turning back to Spot and shifting on his heels. Spot had a strangely intimidating presence and he had the tendency to ramble when faced with those kind of silences. 

Spot cracked a smile though, and dropped his hands from his bag straps. “But you aren’t, I hear.”

Blushing for some ungodly reason, Race shrugged weakly. “Not really, I just like math.”

“I don’t,” Spot deadpanned, “and I really need to pass this class to keep my scholarship.”

He looked at Race expectantly, sighing when he stared blankly back at him, much like the idiot who’d been forcibly dragged from the room probably would have done. 

“Is there any way you can tutor me?” Spot rushed out finally. He suddenly had an issue with eye contact and Race realized he was probably embarrassed, which was the absolute last thing he wanted him to be.

“Oh, sure,” he answered. Spot’s bright, hopeful look encouraging him more than anything. “Yeah that’s no problem, when do you, uh, want to meet up?”

He could have cried with the slight smile that crossed Spot’s face, honestly. 

“Cool, would tomorrow at like three work? We can meet at that coffee place outside the rec if you want?”

Race had never in his life wanted to be near anywhere where exercise took place, but he jumped on that faster than anything. “Sure!”

Spot nodded, picking at his bag once again. “Okay cool, see you there, then.”

“See you.”

Spot walked off, and Race watched Spot walk off, exhaustion seemingly gone as he started to gather his things. Once he had his bag he pulled out his phone and opened his texts in a rush, pulling up Jack and his thread.

_ Racetrack Higgins: hey, wheres the rec?? _

_ Jack Kelly: god ur such a nerd, race _

* * *

 

He had found the rec, after a rather embarrassing amount of time, even for a freshman, considering it was one of the biggest buildings on campus. It actually had a rather large sign saying, “Recreation Center” on it, as well. He’d chosen to ignore that oversight. 

Spot wasn’t there when he’d walked in, and he’d ordered his black coffee anxiously while he waited. He was anxious partly because he was meeting Spot, who he and Jack had admittedly found and thoroughly stalked on social media, and who was unfortunately a devastatingly interesting, and attractive, person; one who could do far better than Race. Also, this was his third cup of coffee today, and he really wasn’t supposed to have caffeine with his anxiety medication. 

So, when Spot walked over to Race’s little table in the corner, iced coffee in hand, Race felt like more than a bit of a mess. If Spot noticed, he didn’t say anything. 

“Hey,” he said, putting his coffee down and sitting down as he began to root through his bag, pulling out various calculus labelled spirals and binders. “Okay so I went over the chapter about trig derivatives and logarithmic ones, can we go over that first?”

Race nodded jerkily, scooting his chair to the side so he was sitting closer to him, and could crane his neck to glance at the set of problems he’d written down in his spiral. 

“Okay yeah, these aren’t that hard once you get the notation down,” Race breathed, raking a hand through his hair as he scanned the numbers. 

Surprisingly, once he got going with the math, he managed to calm himself down. Math made sense to him, the rules were calming, and it gave him a weird sense of security to know that every problem boiled down to the same few steps. 

Spot seemed to be getting it too, and Race got a little burst of infatuation crossed with anxiety every time Spot brightened if he got a problem right. And he kept bumping Race’s shoulder whenever he explained something well. It was going great, actually.

And, with it being winter and all, the sun had set while they were studying, and around six Spot finally shut his spiral and stretched, arching his back and stretching out his arms as he caught sight of the cafe window.

“Shit, it got late,” he commented, letting out a huge yawn as he started packing up, prompting Race to do the same. “How much do I owe you?”

Taken aback, Race cocked his head. “You don’t have to pay me.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Spot said with an eye roll, “we’ve been working for like, three hours.”

There was no way Race would charge who he still dotingly referred to in his mind as cute hoodie boy, and he stubbornly crossed his arms when Spot held out a twenty. “Nope, I don’t accept payment.”

Snorting, Spot swung his backpack on, pausing for a moment before snatching Race’s and holding it behind his back.

“Let me pay you and you get it back.”

“Nope.”

“Race-”

“It’s bold of you to assume I keep anything but garbage in that bag.”

Spot let out what Race considered to be an adorable whine from low in his throat. “C’mon, let me get you a coffee or something then.”

It didn’t look like he was going to give in, and honestly Race did have to study for his biology test and give a frame by frame reenactment of this entire event for Jack’s sake, so he didn’t think a coffee would hurt. 

Spot saw him give in and grabbed his sleeve, pulling him toward the counter. He was really strong actually, and Race nearly stumbled a few times on the way up.

“Black coffee please,” Race said at Spot’s prompting look.

“What size?” the barista asked, looking between the two of them.

“Large.”

Race rolled his eyes while Spot smirked, handing the barista his twenty. The smell of fresh coffee was enough to briefly distract Race from Spot, and by the time the barista handed him his coffee, Spot was handing him a receipt. 

Race took a long sip from the cup and shook his head. “I don’t need it.”

Strangely forceful, Spot thrust it into his hand. “Take it.”

“Why? I’m just gonna throw it out.”

Spot shrugged and raised his eyebrows, pushing the receipt into Race’s palm one last time before walking toward the door of the cafe. “See you in class.”

Slightly deflated at their parting, Race took another sip of his coffee and felt the receipt in his hand. Turning it over, he looked at it and saw a note in small, cramped handwriting at the bottom. 

_ Text me, we can get coffee without calculus this time  _

There was a number scribbled at the bottom and Race actually felt his face cramping from how hard he was smiling. Punching the number quickly into his phone, he started a new thread.

_ Racetrack Higgins: i threw out the receipt _

_ Spot (hoodie boy): damn that sucks, id hate to have to ask you out twice in one day _

_ Racetrack Higgins: god that would be so  _ _embarrassing_

_ Spot (hoodie boy): i cant even imagine _

Race nearly walked smack into the glass door of the cafe on his way out, but he was grinning like an idiot, the entire time. Yeah, he loved math. 

**Author's Note:**

> ayyy i would adore feedback on this bad boy!!! hmu with your constructive criticism or just like,, any reaction u got bro :)
> 
> ily all and hope u have a wonderful day/night <3


End file.
